It’s time to hook the baler back up and start turning out little round bales. In the north end of the field, I have a doe, her grandmother, and her fawn. It’s not like I can tell them from other deer by appearance – but the behavior identifies them. She was a fawn in winter when her mother was hit on the road. She spent the cold nights snuggled by her grandmother, where I left a couple bales of grass hay for bedding. I made a point of cutting a few Douglas firs for their browse. When I put the roofing on the sawmill shed, she tried to keep me from the ladder. Little deer don’t believe ladders are safe. They have became old friends. There’s a goose who can fly a little in the field – I have hopes (probably forlorn) that his flying will improve. It’s a lonesome life for a goose who can’t fly – and there is a vulnerability to predators who fly well.
The channel has a pair of muskrats I see as I mow, rake and bale past it. I kind of like watching muskrats – they don’t see or hear well, so leaving the water is an invitation to predators, but they don’t notice quiet, still watchers. The coots have had a successful year – one hen has 3 little ones and the other two have four. Coots are not known for their parenting skills. The little diving ducks stay with their mothers in the deeper water. It is hard to get a good count on little diving ducks.
Haying comes late to a sub-irrigated field – I don’t want to mow hay that will lie on wet ground. The ground has finally dried. Now comes the baling, then picking up the bales and moving them under cover.
Later comments – today I expect to finish the baling. It looks like the poor flying goose managed to get airborne and fly away. As I changed to a new bale of twine, I could watch three half-dollar sized turtles, floating on a chunk of 2×4 adjacent to the shore. The last field is dry on the surface, but you can still feel water with each footstep. Tomorrow, I will be picking up the last of the bales – and these mini-rounds handle a lot better with hayhooks.
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